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STORIES FROM 


THE ADIRONDACK^ 


/ 

BY 

ALBERT A. YOUNG, 

n 

" ADIRONDACK AL." 



F. TENNYSON NEELY, 

PUBLISHER, 

LONDON. NEW YORK. CHICAGO. 



8EC0NH 'lOPY, 

ia*a. 



40293 

Copyright, 1899, 
by 

F. Tdwtbon Nsxit 
in 

United States 
and 

Great Britain. 

All Rights Reserved. 


wVO COPife 


Of 





CONTENTS 


PASS 


The Mysterious Lake 5 

Adventures of Camp Life 40 

The Club of Mysterious Characters 70 

The Hero of Tophan’s Camp 104 


Bear Stories. 


120 













STORIES FROM THE ADIRONDACKS. 


THE MYSTERIOUS LAKE; 

OR, 

THE HERMIT OF BLUE RIDGE. 


I. 

DISCOVERY OF THE HERMIT. 

Early in life it was a great pleasure to 
the writer to ramble in the woods among 
the Adirondack Mountains — in which I 
was born and brought up — in search of 
game of various kinds, roots, ores, etc. 
My father was an old woodsman and 


Stories from the Adirondacks. 

trapper and this taste for hunting was a 
natural inheritance in me. Many is the 
day that I have tramped over Blue Ridge 
with my gun on my shoulder, and my 
faithful dog, Nero, at my heels; and 
many is the evening that I have returned 
home, bringing with me numerous fine 
trophies in the shape of animals of the 
smaller order, birds, ginseng roots, etc. 
In fact so much had I traveled the woods 
through that I began to think there was 
not a square rod of land in the whole 
Adirondack region that I did not know 
the exact location of. But I was yet to 
learn that I was mistaken. 

I had often heard my father speak of a 
tradition that was handed down from 
6 


Stories from the Adirondack^. 


the early settlers of the vicinity that 
somewhere on the top of Blue Ridge 
there was a lake, the water of which was 
as clear as a crystal and contained, or 
rather was “running over” with trout of 
a fabulous size. 

Many efforts had been made to dis- 
cover this lake, but all in vain, as the out- 
let ran underground and so could not be 
traced by this source. 

So thoroughly had I explored the 
vicinity of where this lake was supposed 
to be that I was convinced that there was 
no such body of water, set the matter 
down as some old settler’s yarn, and if it 
ever came up as a topic of conversation 
in my presence laughed it to scorn. 


7 


Stories from the Adirondack^. 

Years passed by. I gave up my old 
pursuits of hunting and went to New 
York City, where I secured a situation in 
the mercantile business and in the new 
scenes and experiences through which I 
passed I forgot many of my “boyhood’s 
happy days” and also about the tradition 
of the lost lake on Blue Ridge in the 
land I left behind me. 

It was only a few years ago that I re- 
turned from the city to my old home 
nestling among the evergreen mountains. 
Harry Armstrong, who was employed 
with me in New York and who had be- 
come a fast friend of mine, came home 
with me as my guest. 

I had not been back many days when 


8 


Stories from the Adirondack^ 

the old desire came over me and I 
longed to take a tramp in the woods over 
the ground that my feet had so often trod 
in former days. I mentioned this desire 
to Harry one morning and asked him to 
go with me for a day’s gunning in the 
woods on top of old Blue Ridge, which 
was about a five miles’ walk from my 
home. Harry readily consented, as he 
was “struck” with the novelty of a 
tramp in the forest, and so we made 
some hasty preparations and with our 
shotguns started out. Before going, 
Harry took care to put in a quart bottle 
of “Mumm’s Extra Dry” with our lunch. 
Harry, I may add, was rather too fond 
of this beverage. 


9 


Stories from the Adirondacks. 

We passed through pastures in which 
gentle cows were peacefully feeding, 
through fields in which the golden grain 
was waving, and in about an hour’s time 
came to the edge of the woods at the 
foot of the ridge. Pausing in our walk 
for a few minutes, we took first a good 
pull at Harry’s bottle and then a look be- 
hind us at my home in the distance, and 
resuming our tramp we were soon climb- 
ing the rugged sides of the mountain, 
looking around us on all sides for birds 
or game of any kind. As we traveled 
on, I recognized many familiar land- 
marks and places which I used to visit in 
my former trips through the region, 
frightened from their hiding-places vari- 


10 


Stories from the Adirondack^. 


ous kinds of small game: banged away at 
some with more or less success in bring- 
ing them down, and when noon came we 
halted to rest and eat our lunch by the 
side of a little spring which bubbled up 
out of the earth. After eating, we 
lighted our pipes, and reclining under 
some sturdy maples, settled down for a 
few minutes of comfort. It was a day 
in early September. The sun shone 
bright and warm, flies were buzzing in 
the air and birds sang sweet songs in 
the branches over our heads. As we 
smoked away, we began to get drowsy. 
Soon our eyelids felt heavy, our pipes 
fell from our mouths, and we were fast 
asleep. 


ll 


Stories from the Achrondacks. 

One, two, three, four hours passed 
slowly away and still we slept. A fifth 
had almost passed when I awoke with a 
start, jumped up and looked around me. 
Harry was still sleeping. 1 looked at 
the sun and saw that it was hanging over 
the horizon, lacking but a short time of 
setting. I looked at my watch and saw 
that it was getting late. Walking over 
to where my companion was lying, I 
grabbed hold of him, gave him a shake 
and a twitch which had the double effect 
of awakening him and bringing him on 
to his feet. “Come,” I said, “hurry up 
and let’s get started for home. What 
fools we have made of ourselves sleep- 
ing like that when we are here in the 


U 


Stories from the Adirondack^ 

wilderness among bears, catamounts and 
who knows what else! Many miles 
from home and the sun almost set.” 

“I can’t help it,” drawled he, rubbing 
his eyes. ‘‘Where’s the bottle?” 

I assured him that it was safe, and I 
picked up our ‘‘duffle” and started off in 
the direction of home, casting, as I went, 
many anxious glances toward the rapidly 
setting sun. Harry followed me. We 
had proceeded but a short distance, 
when, from out of a thicket to our imme- 
diate right, there burst forth a large 
black bear. Accustomed as I was in my 
youthful days to seeing such sights, I 
was not much startled ; but Harry saw 
it and giving a yell of terror, he darted 


13 


Stories from the Adirondack^. 

past me, and started off through the 
wood at the top of his speed. I shouted 
to him to stop, but he heeded not. 
Fearing he would get out of my sight 
and lost, I ran after him and tried to 
catch up with him to restrain him by 
means of my strength if not of my voice. 
But on he flew, and in spite of my best 
efforts, I could not overtake him, but 
managed to keep him in sight. On — on 
we ran, the pursued and the pursuer, 
dodging among the trees, jumping over 
old logs, rocks and other obstacles in 
our way, until finally Harry disappeared 
from my sight behind a clump of alders 
and small brush. I rushed onward, 
reached the place where I saw him dis- 


14 


Stories from the Adirondack*. 


appear, parted the brush, leaped through 
— and came to a sudden stop. At my 
side stood Harry, trembling with fear 
and exhaustion, and right before us 
stretched out, I should say, two miles 
long and fully half of that distance 
wide, hemmed on all sides by the un- 
broken wilderness, was as beautiful a 
sheet of water as I ever saw in my life. 
Out on its surface about fifty rods from 
shore, was a rough scow boat, and seated 
in it was an old man, with long, gray 
hair hanging down his back, which was 
turned toward us, and he was intently 
engaged in fishing. I stood gazing in 
amazement at this scene which had so 
suddenly presented itself to my view. 

15 


Stories from the Adirondack*. 

Where was I? Surely I must be on Blue 
Ridge— but that body of water? Then 
it suddenly flashed upon my mind that I 
had accidentally stumbled upon the lost 
lake of the tradition of my forefathers. 
But who was that old man? I spoke to 
Harry and he in the boat heard me and 
turned quickly around toward us, peer- 
ing sharply in our direction. I stepped 
out in plain view of him and motioned 
him to come ashore. He looked intently 
at me for a moment and then gathered 
up his fishing tackle, took up his oars 
and commenced rowing slowly toward 
us. When at a distance of about five 
rods from shore, he came to a stop and 
in a voice of stern authority he asked: 


16 


Storks from the Adirondack^. 

“Who are you who thus trespass on my 
domain?” 

“We are your friends, I trust,” I re- 
plied; “we are from the settlement and 
while roaming in these woods we lost 
our way and have accidentally come to 
this spot. If you can show us some 
route that we can take and get back 
home we will be very grateful to you.” 

The old man did not speak until some 
moments had passed, but seemed lost in 
thought. When he again addressed us 
it was in a gentler tone. “You are many 
miles from any habitation save my 
own,” he said, “and the sun is already 
set, darkness will soon fall upon the land. 
Think not of going home to-night, but 


17 


Stories from the Adirondacks. 

accept of my hospitality until the mor- 
row. Then go your way and forget that 
you ever saw me or this place. Come, 
stand not there but get into my boat and 
go with me to my mansion over there,” 
and he smiled and pointed across the 
water. We complied with his request, 
got into the boat, which, while we were 
talking, he had pulled up to the shore, 
and were soon gliding over the water, 
going in the direction of the east end of 
the lake. We soon reached our destina- 
tion and the old man secured his boat 
and led the way into the forest. We 
followed and soon came to a cabin among 
the trees. This we entered, the old man 
struck a light, built a fire in a rude stove 


18 


Stories from the Adirondack^. 


and set to work to prepare some supper. 
Harry and myself sat down on a bench 
built against the wall and entered into 
conversation with our strange host. 

We saw he was a man of culture and 
good breeding, but very reticent about 
relating anything of his past life at first. 
But after supper (which consisted of 
venison steak, trout, cornbread and 
coffee made of parched corn and which 
seemed to me the best meal I ever 
tasted) he became more communicative 
and finally told us the romantic and sad 
history of his life. 


19 


Stories from the Adirondack^. 


II. 

THE OLD HERMIT’S STORY. 

“I was born, brought up and educated 
in the city of New York,” began the old 
man. “There were the scenes of many 
happy days for me in my boyhood; of 
some sad ones as I advanced in age. 
Imagine a lad, happy, full of life and 
gayety, having no apprehensive thought 
other than of happiness for the future, 
living only in the present; having a 
cheery home, a kind father, a gentle and 
ever-loving mother, and everything that 


20 


Stories from the Adirondack^. 


a young heart could wish for. Such was 
I at the age of ten years. 

“I attended the best school in the city, 
was quick to learn and a favorite with 
my teachers and schoolmates. Those 
were happy days for me. Oh, that we 
could realize the vast happiness of our 
youthful days before they are past. 

“My father was a merchant down- 
town ; well can I remember when but a 
wee boy of six summers, my father 
took me down to his store one afternoon 
and there for one glorious half-day, I 
sported in great glee among piles of dry 
goods, boxes of shoes, hats, etc. I re- 
lated my adventures to mother that 
evening with great gusto and when 


21 


Stories from the Adirondack^. 


father came home, he took me on his 
knee and said: ‘My little Georgie will 
some day own the store and all the 
pretty things he saw when papa has 
gone.’ Little did I think that ‘some day’ 
would come so soon, but so it proved. 
Ten years after my father died and I 
found myself at the age of sixteen heir 
to his vast fortune. My schooldays were 
over, and I went into the large store 
left by my father and with the assistance 
of a manager carried on the business. 
As I grew up (accustomed as I was in 
my youth to being petted and having 
my own way) I began to show signs of 
waywardness which greatly displeased 
my manager and brought new grief to 


22 


Stories from the Adirondack^. 


my mother. At the age of eighteen I 
was more fond of spending money than 
I was of earning it. I had in fact given 
myself up to fast living, if not actual 
dissipation. I was fond of gay compan- 
ions, of wine, the club, and ballroom. 
As I handled plenty of money, I did not 
hesitate to avail myself of every luxury 
my heart desired. Of course I had 
many friends as I spent money lavishly, 
and as I was rather comely in appear- 
ance, I was a special object of adora- 
tion among the fair sex. Many is the 
time at this period of my life, that my 
mother would weep over me and implore 
me to be a better son, and I would for 
an hour be ashamed and repentant and 


23 


Stories from the Adirondack^. 


promise her I would; but, alas! my 
promise would soon be forgotten in an- 
other wild, mad rush of gayety. 

“At a rather questionable resort I first 
met Lulu Wilson. She was, I believe, 
the prettiest creature that I ever saw. 
But little did I then know of the deceit 
and wickedness that lay behind those 
twinkling blue eyes. She fascinated me 
with them, I fell madly in love with her 
and was delighted to see that she ap- 
peared fond of me. I took her to balls, 
to the theater, I was constantly by her 
side. I adored her, and in spite of the 
whisperings of my friends that she was 
a clever adventuress, and against the 
wishes of my mother, I married her. 


U 


Stories from the Adirondack^. 


“When mother heard of our engage- 
ment she was very sad, and said to me: 
‘Dear George, you can never be happy 
with that woman. I have taken pains 
to find out her history and it is bad — 
very bad.’ I would listen to nothing 
and so the wedding came off. I took 
my wife home to live with my mother, 
and for a time confined myself more at- 
tentively to business, and as everything 
went well I was really happy. I was 
always ready to gratify my wife’s every 
whim and by her advice made many 
investments to induce larger returns in 
my business, not knowing that this 
would surely lead to my destruction. 

“A short time after I became of age 


25 


Stories from the Adirondack*. 


my dear mother was taken violently ill 
and died before a physician could reach 
the house. The doctors said ‘heart fail- 
ure,’ but I am now confident that my 
wife administered poison or something 
which caused her death. By the death 
of my mother I lost the only blood re- 
lation that I ever knew and found myself 
the sole possessor of a large amount of 
property. I was by her death drawn 
more closely to my wife, if such a thing 
was possible, and was willing to abide by 
her advice, and she took an active inter- 
est in my business. She urged me to 
speculate, and I speculated heavily. 
Things took a turn and I saw that my 
business and property were being fast in- 


26 


Stories from the Adirondacks. 


volved in debt. My wife urged me to 
deed everything over to her so I would 
be safe from creditors until the crisis 
was past and things took a turn for the 
better. This I blindly consented to do. 
A few days after the transfer, I went 
home one afternoon to find the house 
closed and my wife gone. I inquired 
of the neighbors and elicited the infor- 
mation that she had left the house 
about an hour before in company with 
a strange man. 

“I was astonished at this, and as I 
stood there wondering two men came 
up, took possession of the house, and 
showed me papers to prove that they 
had bought it of my wife. I rushed 


27 


Stories from the Adirondacks. 


down the street to the police station and 
asked the chief what to do. He told me 
I had better hunt up my wife and get an 
explanation of her conduct. I went on 
the search for her and found that she 
had, in company with a tall, dark-look- 
ing man, boarded a north-bound train, 
having bought tickets for Albany. I 
also bought a ticket for the same place, 
and taking the next train was soon 
speeding northward. I arrived in Al- 
bany that evening about nine o’clock, 
and anxiously inquired of the depot 
authorities there whether they had seen 
a couple answering to the description I 
gave. They had not, and intimated 
that if I was tracing anybody I had bet- 


28 


Stories from the Achrondacks. 

ter secure the services of a professional 
detective. 

“Tired and distracted in body and 
mind I sought a hotel and tried vainly 
to get some rest. Early next morning I 
went to police headquarters and engaged 
the services of a detective, and he and I 
took up the search for my runaway 
wife. We found that she and her com- 
panion had stayed at a hotel in the city, 
and had been driven to the depot early 
in the morning where they took a train 
for Saratoga. The detective and myself 
followed after. On reaching Saratoga 
we found that the couple had alighted 
from a train there and were somewhere 
in that city. In conversing with the Sar- 


29 


Stories from the Adirondack^. 

atoga chief of police I made the dis- 
covery that my wife was a former resi- 
dent of that place, where she had a very 
bad record previous to her going to New 
York, and that her marrying me was 
probably a bold scheme of hers to get 
hold of my property. Acting upon his 
advice I swore out a warrant for her 
arrest, and officers were sent scouring 
the city in search of her. I went to a 
hotel, leaving word that when she was 
found I was to be notified so I could 
appear and prefer charges against her. 
In the afternoon a message came to me 
that my wife had evaded the officers, 
and still in company with her male 
companion had taken a train going 


30 


Stories from the Adirondacks* 


north, evidently bound for Canada. I 
determined that I would follow her even 
to the end of the earth, and when I 
found her would shoot her down in her 
tracks. With this rash impulse I 
stopped at a store, bought a revolver 
and rushed down to the depot. A train 
was just about to go. I asked the agent 
what train it was and he said, ‘north- 
bound.* 1 hurriedly jumped aboard 
without buying a ticket, and off we 
went. The conductor came around call- 
ing for tickets. I told him I had none, 
and inquired the fare in cash to Mon- 
treal, to which place I presumed my 
wife had gone. ‘To Montreal!’ he ex- 
claimed, ‘you are on the wrong road. 


31 


Stories from the Adirondacks. 

You should have taken a train on the 
Champlain division. This goes up into 
the Adirondack Mountains. You will 
have to get off at the next station and 
wait for a train back to Saratoga.’ 
About ten miles farther on the train 
came to a halt at a small station, and I 
alighted and strolled about the place, 
awaiting a return train to Saratoga. 

“The depot agent came out of his 
office after a short time, glancing 
sharply at me as he went past and down 
the walk which led to the little village 
near by. He soon returned in company 
with a large man who came up to me 
and asked me if my name was 
George I replied that it was, 


33 


Stories from the Adirondack*. 


wondering who the man was and what 
he wanted. ‘Then,’ he said, laying his 
hand on my shoulder, ‘I arrest you on a 
telegram just received from New York 
where you are wanted on a charge of 
fraudulently transferring or disposing of 
your property with intent to beat your 
creditors and leave the country. Come 
with me.’ 

“Not expecting anything of this kind, 
I was for a moment dazed by this devel- 
opment and made no reply, but mechan- 
ically followed the officer as he went 
back toward the village. But quickly 
there came to my senses a realization of 
the bad fix I was in. Disgrace and im- 
prisonment were before me and sure to 


33 


Stories from the Adirondack^. 

be my lot, and all because I loved and 
gratified the requests of one I trusted 
implicitly, but who had turned out to 
be falser than Satan himself. A great 
fear came over me and a longing to be 
free — to flee far away, I knew not nor 
cared not where, only somewhere to get 
away from those tormenting thoughts 
that possessed my mind. I could not 
endure the thought of being a prisoner 
in the hands of the law for a crime of 
which I considered myself innocent; 

“Acting on the impulses of the mo- 
ment I quickly put my hand in my 
pocket, drew out my revolver and shot 
at the constable before he had time to 
prevent me. He threw up his hands 


34 


Stories from the Adirondack^. 


and with a cry of pain fell over back- 
ward. Then with a bound I left him 
and ran like a wild deer into the forest 
near by. I will not weary you with all 
the details of the terrible days and 
nights which followed. Pursued, bro- 
ken-hearted and forlorn, I wandered. 
Going for days without food except 
wild berries and such game as I could 
shoot with my small revolver, exposing 
myself to great dangers from wild 
beasts, etc., until one day I accidentally 
stumbled upon this spot, found this 
cabin, these utensils and this gun just 
as you see them. Who they belonged 
to I know not. No person has come to 
claim them, nor has mortal foot except 
35 


Stories from the Adirondack^. 

my own trod this ground for the many 
years I have lived here until you came. 
But here I have lived all alone, musing on 
the past, an outcast from the society of 
man, a fugitive from justice, ay, per- 
haps a murderer, and all on account of 
the woman I once loved — God knows 
how well. 

“But I am here and here I must stay 
until death shall some day find me and 
my spirit shall go free to experience in 
its future dwelling place — what? As 
for you, I will conduct you out to-mor- 
row, hut in a manner that will com- 
pletely blind you as to the route, and I 
have no fears that you or any other per- 
sons will ever find the way to this place. 


36 


Stories from the Adirondack^ 


III. 

FAREWELL, DEAR HERMIT. 

It was near the hour of midnight 
when the old man finished his strange 
tale, and at its conclusion he arose and 
went to the farther corner of the cabin 
where he stretched himself out on a pile 
of furs which were thrown on the floor 
and was soon sleeping soundly, his hand 
resting on his gun which lay at his side. 
But Harry and myself were too excited 
with the events of the day to think of 
sleep, so we sat and pondered on what 
our aged host had told us. 

Long before dawn he was astir and 
prepared some breakfast. After par- 


37 


Stories from the Adirondacks. 

taking of it the hermit took up his gun 
and started out, beckoning us to follow. 
It was so dark that we could scarcely 
discern our hands before our faces, but 
our guide did not seem to mind this, 
but led the way off through the forest, 
and we by the aid of his voice, managed 
to follow him. We went uphill and down- 
hill and downhill and uphill until we 
thought we had traveled far enough to go 
‘halfway to Europe,” as Harry expressed 
it, when, just as day was breaking, we 
found ourselves out in the clearing about 
five miles from the settlement. Here 
the old man left us and without waiting 
to receive our thanks beat a hasty re- 
treat in the direction whence we came. 

38 


Stories from the Adironcfacks. 


We resumed our journey, and were 
soon at home relating our adventures to 
our friends, who would not believe a 
word we told them, but said: “The next 
time you two go hunting you had better 
take a smaller sized bottle and then 
perhaps you will not have to draw on 
your imagination for an excuse for stay- 
ing out all night.’’ 

The incidents of which I write oc- 
curred some years ago. Since then, 
myself as well as many others have 
made repeated attempts to again dis- 
cover the lost lake and old hermit, but 
without avail, and the whole matter is 
swallowed up in deep mystery, seem- 
ingly never to be revealed. 


39 


Stories from the Adirondacks, 


ADVENTURES OF CAMP LIFE. 

I 

Thebe were five of us in the party, 
and we were camped on the shores of a 
beautiful pond away back among the 
Adirondack Mountains, and were en- 
joying a week’s fishing in the vicinity. 
There were Richard Longworth and 
Thomas Statton, two young dry goods 
merchants from New York, who were 
on their first visit to the mountains, 
“Old Sol” Holway and Dave Bryan, 
two Adirondack guides, and the fifth 
person was the humble writer of this 
book. Longworth and Statton were 


40 


Stories from the Adirondack^. 

stopping at a popular summer resort, 
and I, being in the vicinity a consider- 
able portion of my time, became ac- 
quainted with them in some way. 
Being desirous of spending some part 
of their vacation in fishing, they asked 
me one day what the prospects were for 
getting some trout. I proposed to them 
that we procure a guide, camp out and 
do some night fishing in one of the 
ponds in the vicinity. After talking the 
matter over we decided that we would 
ask both “Old Sol” and Bryan to accom- 
pany us. We hired a tent and camping 
utensils, also two boats and a team to 
convey us and our “duffle” to a pond 
where our guides said we were apt to 


41 


Stories from the Adirondack^. 

have good success. We staked our 
camp there and were soon doing a flour- 
ishing business, catching fish, fighting 
mosquitoes and having more fun than 
you could “shake a stick at,’’ as “Old 
Sol’’ expressed it. 

This worthy personage was a whole 
circus in himself and his greatest pride 
was in living up to his reputation— that 
of being the biggest liar in the Adiron- 
dacks. As he was a good talker and an 
adept at bringing out many strong 
points, I delighted in listening to his 
stories of wonderful adventures and 
hairbreadth escapes, which he would 
relate to us of an evening as we sat in 
our tent, or in a boat out on the pond 


42 


Stories from the Adirondack^. 


engaged in fishing. Of course I knew 
that they were the biggest kind of yarns, 
but the unsophisticated city youths be- 
lieved that they were the solemn truth, 
as Bryan, who was about “Sol’s” equal 
in yarning, was in the habit of corrobora- 
ting (?) everything that “Sol” said; and 
in their opinion “Sol” was a greater man 
than General Grant ever was. 

“Tell ye what,” “Old Sol” said aside 
to Dave Bryan and myself, “you ken 
make them aire city chaps believe thet 
the moon’s made o’ green cheese; but 
they’ll get ’nitiated one o’ these days;” 
and many “degrees” were conferred on 
them by the old guide. 

For instance, he would tell them some 


43 


Stories from the Adirondack^. 

bloodcurdling story of panthers, and 
then pretending to have heard one 
scream, he and Dave would rush out of 
the tent to listen, leaving the New 
Yorkers trembling with fear inside and 
myself convulsed with laughter. 

It was the third night of our stay in 
camp and we were out on the pond en- 
gaged in fishing. “Old Sol’’ and the 
two “Yorkers’’ were in one boat and 
Dave Bryan and myself occupied the 
other, but we were not far apart, but 
lay anchored side by side. 

It was the middle of June; the sky 
was cloudy and the night of Stygian 
darkness. Away off in the southwest 
we could hear the low rumbling of 


44 


Stories from the Adirondack^ 


thunder and occasionally flashes of 
lightning would dart across the sky. 
Off across the pond an owl was breaking 
the stillness by his continued and lone- 
some “to-whoo, to-whoo,” and the frogs 
croaked incessantly along the shores. 
It was just such a scene as “Old Sol” 
delighted in, and he took the occasion to 
tell one of his wild stories. 

Dave,” said he, after we had fished in 
silence for some minutes, “Dave, d’you 
believe in ghosts?” 

“Wal,” drawled Dave, “can’t say that 
I dew, tho’ I’ve seen some strange things 
in my lifetime.” 

“So’ve I, so’ve I,” said "Sor*; “and 
this night makes me think of a strange 


45 


Stories from the Adirondack^. 

’sperience I had onct in these aire 
parts. Did I ever tell you about it, 
Dave?” 

‘‘Guess not.” 

“Wal, ’twas about ten year ’go, and 
when I first commenced guiding in these 
woods. There uster be an old lumber 
camp ’cross the pond yonder, and near 
the edge of a big swamp. Wal, there 
uster be a story thet, on a time, when a 

man by the name of , wal, it’s 

queer I can’t think of his name— but 
never mind — had a job there and one day 
he got mad at his wife for suthing or 
ruther and he up and killed her, so they 
say, and buried her body in the swamp. 
Of course I never believed the story. 


46 


Storks from the Adirondacks. 


Wal, one day I was guiding a party in 
the woods and, as I sed afore being new 
at the biz, and not acquainted with the 
country, I lost my way and we wandered 
around till it was nearly night, when we 
happened to run across the old lumber 
camp. I proposed to my companions 
thet we roost there for the night, and 
they gladly consented, being ’bout tuck- 
ered out by their long tramp. 

“I gethered some pine boughs and 
made a kind o’ bed in a corner of the old 
shanty and my companions throwed 
themselves down on it, and were soon 
snoring. But somehow or other I was 
not sleepy and after laying there awhile 
I got up and went out doors and sot 
47 


Stories from the Adirondack** 


down on a log in front of the shanty. 
It was jest ebout this time o’ the year 
and a night a good deal like this. It was 
thundering away in the west and I knew 
it was going to rain, and I wondered if the 
old shanty would leak and we get wet. 
Then as my thoughts turned to the 
shanty I wondered whose shanty it was, 
and somehow or other my mind turned 
to the story of the shanty man who 
murdered his wife and buried her in a 
swamp, and I begun to speculate as to 
what foundation the story had on facts. 
As I sot there, musing away, an owl — 
mebbe the same darned critter we can 
hear to-night, only younger — was hoot- 
ing away back in the woods and the 
48 


Stories from the Adirondack^. 


night was lonely enough, I can tell ye. 
The rain drops begun to patter on the 
roof of the shanty and I got up and 
started to go inside, when I was startled 
to hear, a little ways off to the right, a 
low moan as if from some human being 
in distress. I stopped short and held 
my breath, while I listened for a repeti- 
tion of the noise. But after waiting for 
quite a spell without hearing anything 
but thet old owl, I started on agen. 

“Moan, moan, there was no mistaking 
it this time, for I heard it as plain as 
day; but I didn’t get scared— oh, no! I 
reached in my pocket kinder uncon- 
cerned like, took out a plug o’ tobacco 
and took a chaw, then I reached for my 


49 


Stories from the Adirondack*. 


gun which stood agin the side o’ the 
shanty and started in the direction from 
whence come the noise. 

“I conjectured thet the noise was 
made by some animile what was prowl- 
ing ’round our camp, and meant to settle 
his hash in a hurry. I stumbled through 
the brush which grew ’round the shanty, 
the groans all the while growing louder 
and louder and after going a few rods, as 
I live, I saw looming up jest before me 
a ” 

What this wonderful thing was that 
“Old Sol” saw looming up before him we 
never found out, for just at this point 
his narrative was interrupted by a series 
of the most ear-piercing, terrifying 
50 


Stories from the Adirondacks. 


screams that mortal man ever listened 
to ringing out in the night air. At the 
first cry I could see by the light of our 
lantern the faces of “Old Sol” and Dave 
turn pale, and their hair actually rise 
up. 

The two city youths sank down in a 
heap in the bottom of the boat and I 
myself was as frightened as the rest. 
To add to the consternation, a gust of 
wind sent ahead by the approaching 
shower blew out our light and left us in 
total darkness. The lightning flashed, 
the thunder rolled, and “down came the 
storm and smote amain the vessel in its 
strength,” while above all arose those 
heartrending cries, and a loud splashing 


51 


Stories from the Adirondack^. 


was heard down the pond as if some 
mighty animal had jumped into the 
water and was swimming rapidly to- 
ward us. 


52 


Stories from the Adirondacks. 


II. 

I think I was the first to come to my 
senses and to a realization of our appar- 
ent danger, and calling to “Old Sol” to 
pull up the anchor of his boat and follow 
me, I took up the oars of my own boat 
and pulled rapidly up the pond in the 
direction of our camp. I wanted to get 
ashore and obtain a gun, as we had none 
in the boats, then if the animal, whatever 
it was, should follow and attack us we 
would have something to defend our- 
selves with. 

It was too dark to see what the occu- 
53 


Stories from the Adirondack*. 


pants of the other boat were doing, but 
I could hear the dip of “Sol’s” oars and 
him puffing and blowing as if he were 
rowing for all his might. After awhile, 
he seemed to have stopped. I called 
out to him to come on, but received no 
response. All was as still as the grave, 
as the cries of the animal had also sud- 
denly ceased. 

I asked Dave if we had not better go 
back and ascertain if “Sol’s” party had 
been capsized or anything had happened 
to them; but he said, “No, for God’s 
sake, let’s ’tend to our own bacon and 
let them go to thunder.” Thinking my- 
self that self-preservation was the first 
law of nature, I pulled away and in the 


54 


Stories from the Adirondack^ 


course of five minutes reached the shore. 
The rain by this time was pouring down 
in torrents and we were wet to the skin. 
As we were pulling our boat out of the 
water, we thought we heard, out on the 
pond, a cry as from somebody in distress ; 
but after listening closely and hearing 
no more we concluded that we must have 
been mistaken. 

We supposed we had landed near our 
camp and went hunting around in search 
of it, but it did not take us long to dis- 
cover that we had gone amiss and were 
we knew not where. We searched and 
searched as well as we could in the 
darkness, but found no familiar spot or 
object. 


55 


Stowes from the Adirondacks. 

Consulting as to what it was best for 
us to do we agreed that we could do 
nothing until it was daylight, and find- 
ing a huge rock we climbed to the top, 
and, perched there, impatiently awaited 
the coming of the dawn, speculating as 
to the possible fate of our friends. At 
last, after seemingly weeks of waiting, 
the morning dawned ; the beautiful sun 
came up, dried our clothes and showed 
us where we were. From our perch on 
the rock we could see that we had not 
landed anywhere near our camp, but 
were fully a mile from it. Climbing 
down from our night’s resting (?) place, 
we went down to our boat and were 
soon “at home’’ in our tent. We waited 
56 


Stories from the Adirondacks. 


there until noon in hopes that “Sol” 
and his party would put in their appear- 
ance; but, as they did not, we decided 
to go out to the settlement and organize 
a searching party to go out after them. 
Accordingly we started and had almost 
reached the clearing when we were re- 
joiced to meet a party of men, and at 
their head “Old Sol” who were coming 
in to hunt us up. 

‘*01d Sol” ran forward, embraced and 
hugged us while the tears streamed 
down his cheeks. “By golly,' boys,” 
he said, “I thought you were goners. 
Never so tickled in my life to think 
we’re all safe.” 

It seems that the experience of “Sol” 


57 


Stories from the Adirondack*. 

and the two with him was similar to that 
of Dave and myself, only instead of 
going to the camp in the morning they 
made a beeline for town, where the two 
New York men were glad to take to their 
beds, while “Sol” got several of the 
natives together to go in search of us. 

We returned to the town tired, but 
glad that we were alive, and that even- 
ing we planned that on the next day we 
would all turn out and go in search of 
the panther we had heard at the pond— 
for panther we supposed it to be. 


68 


Stories from the Adirondack^ 


m. 

Out from that peaceful settlement 
there rode a noisy, happy company of us 
that pleasant summer morn. Nearly all 
of the natives who could shoot a gun 
and some who could not, volunteered 
their services, and even the small boys 
were anxious to join in the hunt and, 
as we rode away, the children stood 
watching us out of the town, and we 
went forth, with shining sword and 
poised lance to slay “thet animile — if we 
get a chance,” as “Old Sol” expressed 
it. It was a pleasure to me to witness 


59 


Stories from the Adirondacks. 

the gay spirits of my companions who 
sang and shouted until the mountains 
rang with the echo. I was not long, 
however, in discovering that their joy- 
fulness was not wholly caused by the 
brightness of the morn or anticipations 
of the day’s chase, for we had not gotten 
fairly out of sight of the houses of the 
little village when “Old Sol’’ reached 
in under the wagon seat and drew out a 
big jug, which he raised in his hands, 
high above his head and in a loud, stage 
voice exclaimed: 

“Here is some shining, sparkling juice 
For which there’s many and many a use. 
’Twill break up a cold and cure a chill; 

So come up all you duffers, 

Come up, drink your fill.” 

60 


Stories from the Adirondack^ 


“Whoa, there, driver, let’s oil up a 
little.” And “oil up” they did in first- 
class shape, and on we went again. 

The party numbered eight men, be- 
sides myself, all armed ; while several 
dogs of various breeds ran barking and 
snarling behind us. 

It was our intention to ride as far as 
the rough road would admit, for which 
purpose we had chartered an old team of 
horses and a rickety wagon; then we 
were to proceed on foot into the woods 
which surrounded the pond, the scene of 
our recent adventure. There we were 
going to separate and each man was to 
take up a station “on the watch.” One 
of the men was to take the dogs and 


61 


Stories from the Adirondack*, 
scout around the pond in hopes of having 
the canines scent the animal and drive 
it around where some of us could get a 
shot at it. 

Everything went according to arrange- 
ment. After going as far as we thought 
advisable with the team, we unharnessed 
the horses and tied them to the wheels 
of the wagon, leaving a bundle of hay 
for them to eat. We then proceeded a 
distance on foot and after a short con- 
sultation we separated. Before we did 
so, the contents of the jug were emptied 
into pint bottles and every man except 
myself took one. “Old Sol’’ strongly 
urged me to do so, saying “’Twon’t hurt 
ye, and you’ll need it to brace ye up 


Stories from tfie Adirondack^. 


when you see that aire painter coming 
toward ye.” But thinking if such a re- 
sult as having that painter ‘‘coming to- 
ward me,” was likely, I would be bet- 
ter prepared to face it with my sober 
senses and a clear brain, I declined with 
thanks. 

As we went crashing off through the 
brush to take up our positions, we could 
hear the voice of ‘‘Old Sol” calling after 
us to ‘‘look kerful now, boys, and don’t 
let the pesky critter ’scape ye,” etc., 
until we were far apart. 

That the reader may better under- 
stand our positions, a little explanation 
is necessary. We were in the woods 
which surrounded the pond, on the oppo- 


63 


Stories from the Adirondacks. 


site side from where the camp we had 
occupied stood. We were distant about 
twenty rods from the water, and were to 
be arranged at about an equal distance 
from each other in a semicircle around 
the pond, as many of the men believed 
that the animal was hiding in the imme- 
diate vicinity. Arranged as indicated, 
we took up our stand, I being the last 
one in the semicircle near the head of 
the pond. It was past the noon hour 
when we got settled each in our place. 

After waiting about a half-hour, I 
heard the dogs set up a furious barking 
in the direction that the man had gone 
to start them, and concluded that they 
had struck the track of the animal and 
64 


Stories from the Adirondacks. 

was on the alert to shoot it if it came 
my way. I soon perceived, however, 
that the dogs were heading off in an 
opposite direction and going farther and 
farther away. Very soon they were out 
of hearing. Another hour passed away 
and still no more was heard of the dogs 
or animals of which they were supposed 
to be in pursuit. 

I began to get a little lonesome and 
impatient for something to transpire. 
After waiting a few minutes longer I 
thought 1 would go over to where my 
nearest neighbor was on the watch and 
have a little conversation with him to 
pass away the time. I accordingly 
walked off to the left about thirty rods 


65 


Stories from the Adirondacks. 

to the place where I supposed him to be 
stationed, but he was not there and I 
walked on still farther. Still nobody 
could I see. I shouted out several 
times, but received no answer except the 
echo of my own voice. 

Thinking that the man had gone down 
nearer the pond, I went in that direction. 
Hearing voices ahead of me I hastened 
along and soon came in sight of an old 
lumber shanty. The voices came from 
inside of this and going forward, I 
pushed aside the rude door and entered. 
There inside were “Old Sol,’’ Dave 
Bryan and the other six men of the 
party, all engaged in having a jolly time 
to say the least. Their bottles, now 


66 


Stories from the Adirondacks. 


nearly empty, they were brandishing in 
the air, while they performed a wild 
can-can around the room. They 
grabbed hold of me when I entered and 
urged me to drink and join in their carou- 
sals, but I refused and began to beseech 
of them to go home as night was coming 
on. They would listen to nothing, but 
again broke into a wild whirl of gayety. 
Realizing the uselessness of pleading 
with them and not wishing myself to 
spend the night in the old shanty, I left 
them in disgust and started for the set- 
tlement. As I went walking rapidly 
away from the shanty, I could hear the 
mellow voice of “Old Sol’’ singing: 


67 


Stories from the Adirondacks. 

“Oh, it’s up the river an’ down the creek; 

An’ it won’t be day for an hour yet; 

I would ruther hunt than to plow or sow, 

An’ I don’t care whether I go home or no.” 

I hastened on, and just as night was 
falling I reached the little village whence 
we had started in the morning. That 
was the last I ever saw of “Old Sol’’ or 
any of the men, as I was called from the 
place early the following morning and 
never knew at what time “Old Sol’s” 
party got out of the woods or what 
became of the animal of which we went 
in search. I read in the Adirondack 
News , of the following week, this inter- 
esting piece of news, which sounded as 
if it had its origin with “Old Sol:” 


68 


Stories from the Adirondacks. 


“A strange animal, whose size was 
nearly that of a Newfoundland dog and 
whose cries were similar to those of a 
panther, only louder and more varied, 
was seen a few nights ago in the vicinity 
of Fisher’s Pond by a guide named Hal- 
way and a party with him. A party was 
organized next day to hunt for the ani- 
mal. It was seen by Halway, who shot 
several times at it, when it retreated into 
the woods crying furiously. Halway 
deserves much credit for his bravery in 
the matter. He says he will yet have 
the animal’s pelt.” 


69 


Stories from the Adirondack^ 


THE CLUB OF MYSTERIOUS CHAR- 
ACTERS. 

I. 

DISCOVERY OF THE CLUB AND ITS STRANGE 
HAUNTS. 

On a quiet street of the village of Sar- 
anac, in the Adirondacks, there stands 
an elegant and imposing-looking man- 
sion. The passer-by would regard this 
large and costly structure, with its 
many wings, porticoes and beautiful 
ornamentations, as the residence of a 
man of fortune. But, if you will stop 
for a moment and notice, there is an air 
70 


Stories from the Adirondacfcs* 


of quietness about the place that cannot 
fail to impress you that the owner is of 
a very retiring nature, as no stir of any 
kind is to be observed; and as you pass 
on you involuntarily wonder what kind 
of a man the master of this mansion is 
and if you ever heard of him. 

The truth is there is no master and the 
building is unoccupied except for the 
hours from ten to twelve Monday and 
Friday nights of each week. Then, 
within those walls which look so ma- 
jestic and grand, there assemble a 
company of men which for originality 
and oddity one would scarcely meet in a 
year’s travel. They style themselves 
the “Club of Mysterious Characters, or 


71 


Stories from the Adirondack^. 

League of Social Woodsmen.” Their 
meetings and doings are as secret as are 
those of a band of counterfeiters, and^ 
this is how I came to find them out. 

One day I received through the post 
office of my native town a letter ad- 
dressed to me in a scrawling and nearly 
indecipherable hand and running as 
follows : 

‘‘Dear Sir: I have long known and 
watched you and have formed a deep re- 
gard for you. Therefore I ask you to go 

to the large mansion on B Street in 

Saranac, next Monday night at 10:30 
o’clock. Go to the last door to the left, 

rap * times and say , when you 

will be admitted and learn of something 
greatly to your advantage. 

‘‘Yours, 

n 


Stories from the Adirondack^. 


The spaces which I have left blank 
were not so in the letter, but as I am 
now under a solemn oath not to reveal 
any secrets, I omit the words here. 
Well, you may imagine my surprise at 
receiving this strange epistle. What it 
all meant I had not the slightest idea, 
and I really felt a little alarmed as I had 
read of so many cases where persons 
were decoyed away and so forth, that I 
did not know but what there was a plot 
being laid to endanger my safety. My 
first thought was to consult at once the 
proper authorities, place the letter in 
their hands and ask them to ferret out 
the mystery; but after some considera- 
tion of the matter, curiosity overcame 


73 


Stories from the Adirondack. 

fear and I resolved to follow the direc- 
tions of the letter and ascertain who the 
writer was and what he meant and 
wanted, even if I was murdered for so 
doing. 

So Monday night found me in the vil- 
lage of Saranac, in a tremor of excite- 
ment to be sure, but withal feeling quite 
secure, for two heavily loaded revolvers 
were in easy reach in my pockets and I 
was anxiously awaiting the hour of 10:30 
to come. 

I went over the street on which the 
house which had been described to me 
stood, and passed near by it. I peered 
sharply around to see if I could detect 
the presence of any person in the neigh- 
74 


Stories from the Adhondacks* 


borhood, but nobody was in sight. 
Neither could I see any light issuing 
from the inside of the house, but instead 
all was dark and still. Resolving, how- 
ever, to fulfill the mission on which I was 
bent, but fearing, if I loitered around 
near the house in sight of the street that 
I might be taken for a burglar or sus- 
picious character by some passer-by, I 
shrank back into a sort of alleyway near 
by and waited as patiently as I could 
for the hour of 10:30 to arrive. How 
many times I looked at my watch in the 
brief time that I spent there I will not 
attempt to tell. Every minute seemed 
an hour to me. My courage failed every 
minute and I had about concluded to get 


75 


Stories from the Adirondack^. 

out of there and make a break for home, 
when again looking at my watch I saw 
that the hands marked the hour of 10:30 
on the dial, and I knew that the time for 
me to solve the mystery of my strange 
letter had come, and with it returned 
some of my courage. 

“Perhaps it means a thousand dollars 
in my pocket/’ I thought, “and perhaps 
it means — death! but here goes,’’ and I 
stepped out and walked briskly along 
by the side of the house toward the last 
door on the left. I had located it as I 
had passed in the daytime and knew ex- 
actly where to go. I reached the door 
and rapping on it, uttered the password 
which had been named in the letter. 

76 


Stories from the Adirondack*. 


In an instant it was opened and a 
stream of light met my gaze. I stepped 
inside, the heavy door closed behind me, 
and I looked around to see who had ad- 
mitted me and what kind of a place I 
had stumbled into. I found myself in a 
long hall dimly lighted by one small 
lamp which hung suspended from the 
ceiling, and by my side stood a man with 
whom I was as well acquainted as with 
my own brother. The fears that I had 
entertained vanished on the instant at 
sight of him, but astonishment filled 
their place. I grabbed him eagerly by the 
arm and inquired: “What means this? 
What are you doing? and why did you 
call me here?” 


77 


Stories from the Adirondack^. 


For answer he gave a low laugh. 
“Come with me,’’ said he, “and I will 
conduct you to the general assembly 
room of the ‘Club of Mysterious Char- 
acters.’ All the members are present 
and the exercises of the evening will 
soon commence. The subject to-night 
is ‘Mysteries’ and — but come along and 
you will know all,” and taking me by 
the arm he led me forward down the 
long hall and ushered me into a large 
room beyond. 

Here a remarkable scene met my 
gaze. Never was a room more grandly 
furnished. Rich carpets of the most 
elegant pattern covered the floor; beau- 
tiful oriental rugs lay here and there; 


78 


Stories from the Adirondack*. 

heavy lace curtains covered the win- 
dows and fine paintings adorned the 
walls. 

But all this, though complete in de- 
tail and manner of arrangement, did not 
attract my attention half as much as did 
the company I found assembled there. 
Around a large table, under the brilliant 
light of a mammoth chandelier, a dozen 
men were seated, reading or smoking; 
men, I say, and so they were, but at 
first sight one would have taken them 
for wild animals, for each wore a mask 
which exactly resembled the head of 
some beast of the forest. Some were 
wolves, some bears and others some- 
thing else; all were masked except my 


79 


Stories from the Adirondack^. 

guide, and yet I knew they were men, 
but what men and where from I did not 
know. 

As we entered the room none of them 
looked up or seemed to notice our arrival 
in any way. None of them spoke for some 
time. Presently one who sat near the 
head of the table, and who wore the 
mask of a panther, arose from his seat 
and touched a little bell which stood on 
the table near him. “Brethren of the 
league,” he began, “it is now time to 
open the services of the evening, and as 
our guest has arrived I see no reason for 
further delay. The secretary will please 
call the roll.” 

Each person present answered when 


80 


Storks from the Adirondacks. 


a list of names were called off, but none 
of the names were familiar to me, and 
I felt sure they were assumed ones. 
Even my guide responded to the call of 
a name I had never heard before. 

When this formality was completed 
the man who had spoken before again 
arose and said, turning to and addressing 
me: “My dear friend, I bid you wel- 
come. Your invitation here was for a 
purpose ; what that purpose is you will 
learn later. For the present let it pass. 
The gentlemen so strangely attired 
whom you see gathered here comprise 
VThe Club of Mysterious Characters of 
the Adirondacks.’ I will not tell you in 
what manner our society was formed or 


81 


Stories from the Adirondacks. 

how we came to be located here. Suffice 
it to say that we are here, and here to 
stay, and we are powerful and wise in 
our way. Although you may not think 
it honorable in us, we know the private 
life of every public personage. My 
friend, I could tell you secrets about 
persons whom you know that would as- 
tonish, ay, alarm you, and of incidents 
in your own life which you little think 
any person but yourself knows of. But 
I have no desire to do so now. The rea- 
son you were invited here is that you 
might be given an insight into our 
doings, and if afterward you wish to 
become as one of us you will be given 
the privilege. As I said before, we 


82 


Stories from the Adirondack^ 


know much, but yet there are many 
things that are mysteries to us, and of 
these some of the members will speak 
to-night. Mysteries of the forests which 
we wish were made plain, and we will 

endeavor to make them so. Mr. , 

your turn is first.” And the man who 
wore the mask of a bear arose and com- 
menced speaking. 


S3 


Stories from the Adirondack^. 


II. 

MYSTERY OF SHELDON’S WOODS. 

“The subject upon which I wish to 
dwell to-night,’’ said the man with the 
mask of a bear, “is the ‘Mystery of 
Sheldon’s Woods.’ The more I ponder 
on it the more unsolvable does it seem. 
What I am to relate happened many 
years ago in my native town. At that 
time I was residing in the country, al- 
ternately farming and hunting for a liv- 
ing, and I had two boys growing up. 
Frank was fourteen and Will sixteen. 
They were both good boys and dutiful 


84 


Stories from the Adirondack^ 


to their parents, and I could depend on 
them every time. They were, like their 
father, fond of hunting, and I had sup- 
plied them with guns, and when there 
was not much work to be done, I would 
permit them to scour the nearby for- 
ests in search of game, but I always cau- 
tioned them not to go too far from home. 

“One day in early autumn, when the 
partridges were abundant and fat, they 
took their guns and started forth. Noon 
came, the time for their return, but they 
came not. At four o’clock, they being 
yet absent, I began to feel some anxiety 
concerning them and started out to go 
in search of them. I had not gone far 
when I saw them coming toward me. 


85 


Stories from the Adirondack?. 

They were running wildly and were 
minus their guns and hats. They came 
up to me panting heavily, the perspira- 
tion pouring off their faces, sank down 
on the grass at my feet, and it was some 
minutes before they could speak, al- 
though I eagerly questioned them to 
ascertain what was the matter. When 
they had recovered their breath suf- 
ficiently to talk they told me a most 
strange story. I will repeat it as nearly 
as possible in their own words : 

“ ‘The game was not very plenty over 
there in our woods where we first went, 
and so we kept going farther away until 
we found ourselves away over in Shel- 
don’s Woods. We remarked that we 


86 


Stories from the Adirondack^. 


were getting a long way from home and 
had better be going back. Feeling tired 
we sat down on a small knoll to rest a 
little while before starting and began to 
look about us. What was our surprise 
at seeing lying on the ground a short 
distance from us the dead body of a 
woman. We jumped up in alarm and 
were about to run from the spot, but 
calmed our fears the best we could and 
decided to investigate the matter a 
little. We went up close to the body 
and stooped down to examine it. It was 
a young woman of beautiful form and 
features, who looked as if she had been 
dead several days. As we stood regard- 
ing her, lost in astonishment and horror, 


87 


Stories from the Adirondacks. 


we heard a voice— an awful voice— be- 
hind us, and as we turned we saw the 
form of a person that was hideous in 
the extreme. It was an old man with 
long gray whiskers and glittering black 
eyes, and in his hand he had a long dirk 
knife which he waved wildly in the air 
as he advanced toward us. “You con- 
temptible young imps,’’ he shouted, 
“do you leave this place or die,’’ and 
then he swore a horrible oath, but we 
waited to hear no more. Off through 
the woods we started at the top of our 
speed, forgetting in our haste to take 
up our guns, and behind us came that 
old man screaming at the top of his 
voice. 


88 


Stories from the Adirondack^. 

** ‘How we got out of the woods we do 
not know, but we are here and we are 
very glad of it.’ 

“The following day a searching-party 
was formed, and the woods for miles 
around were thoroughly explored, but 
no trace could be found of any dead 
body, of the old man, or of even the 
guns of Frank and Will. Frank’s hat 
was found hanging on a bush in the 
woods, and, strange to say, at a little dis- 
tance from it a little red and blue hood. 
Aside from these things we gained noth- 
ing and returned home none the wiser, 
but for all that I do not believe that the 
boys lied about what they saw.” 

The man in the mask of a bear, having 


89 


Stories from the Adirondack^. 


concluded his remarks, sat down. No- 
body spoke and nobody seemed sur- 
prised at his strange story. The man 
with the mask of a panther quietly took 
a cigar from his pocket, lighted it with 
a match and commenced smoking, his 
chair tipped back and his feet elevated, 
with his eyes on the ceiling as if lost in 
deep thought. After some moments he 
arose from his seat, threw his cigar into 
a receiver and slowly commenced speak- 
ing: “As I am No. 2 I suppose it is now 
my turn to relate a mystery. The tale 
of my brother, just concluded, brings to 
my mind one which I will tell to you 
to-night. 

“I first wish to say that the world is full 


00 


Stories from the Adirondack;;* 




of mysteries. We are kept in a perpetual 
wonder. The mysteries of creation — 
the mysteries of nature — the mystery 
of life and death and of the life beyond 
the grave. ‘God works in a mysterious 
way His wonders to perform.’ We 
should, therefore, have the greatest 
reverence for mysterious things. What 
is invisible to us is visible to some and 
always plain to Him who rules both the 
day and the night.” 


91 


Stories from the Adirondack^ 


III. 

MYSTERY OF THE OLD WOMAN. 

“Thirty years go,” he continued, “the 
house in which I resided stood on the 
now abandoned Cedar Point road. That 
road, now traveled only by hunters and 
trappers, was then the main route be- 
tween Lake Champlain and the Adiron- 
dack lumber and iron region, and was 
much traveled by teams drawing sup- 
plies to the lumbermen and miners. 

“One day, in the fall of the year, a 
strange old woman came walking along 
the road and stopped at my house. I 


92 


Stories from the Adironcfacks. 


was not at home, but my wife received 
her and invited her in. The strange 
woman asked my wife how far it was to 
Green Bay. ‘I know of no such place,’ 
replied my wife; ‘you are evidently on 
the wrong road.’ ‘No,’ she said, ‘Green 
Bay is where he is and I am going to him. 
He forsook me, but I will go to him and 
on my bended knees beg him to take me 
back, for I love him — love him — love 
him.’ 

“My wife saw that the woman was not 
in her right mind and tried to persuade 
her to stay until my return, that she 
might consult with me concerning her; 
but the strange creature would not 
stop but departed after a short time, 


93 


Stories from the Adirondack^. 

in spite of the earnest protests of my 
wife. Ours was the last house between 
the settlement near Lake Champlain and 
the mining and lumbering region toward 
the west. 

“Twenty miles of road, the most of the 
way running through a dense wilder- 
ness, lie between us and the lumber 
region. 

“It was quite late in the afternoon 
when the woman left our house, and it 
was evident that night would overtake 
her in the midst of the woods, unless 
some chance teamster should pick her 
up, which was very doubtful, as all the 
teams passed in the morning. My wife 
was greatly excited as she thought of the 


94 


Stories from the Adirondacks. 


possible fate of the old woman, should 
night overtake her in the wilderness, 
bears and other wild animals being 
plenty. 

“She resolved to send me after her as 
soon as I returned home to bring her 
back, but I did not return until it was 
night, and as I had no horse, I knew that 
the chances for overtaking her by going 
on foot would be small, therefore I did 
not go. 

“We heard no more of the strange 
woman for some time. One day a team- 
ster coming out from the lumber camps 
picked up a hat by the roadside and 
brought it out to the settlement, where 
it was recognized by my wife as the one 


95 


Stofies from the Adirondacks. 

worn by the woman at the time she 
stopped at onr house. The next day her 
dead body was found lying on the ground 
a short distance from the road. It was 
brought out and an inquest was held. 
The jury brought in the verdict that the 
woman, to them unknown, came to her 
death by exposure. She was given a 
decent burial in the cemetery of my 
town. Every effort was made to dis- 
cover her identity, but all to no avail. 
Authorities were consulted, advertise- 
ments written, but no information could 
we get as to where she came from, or 
who she was, and it remains a mystery 
still.” 

The clock on the mantelpiece struck 


Stories from tfie Adirondack^ 

the hour of twelve as the man with the 
panther mask ceased his story. Several 
of the men were yawning and seemed to 
take no interest in his remarks. 


97 


Stories from the Adirondacks. 


IV. 

JOINING THE CLUB. 

He turned to me and said : “My friend, 
take this little book and read our ob- 
jects, conditions and requirements. After 
so doing, should you wish to join us, we 
will initiate you and so close this even- 
ing’s meeting. Our next meeting will 
be on Friday night next, commencing at 
the usual hour, and I wish to say to the 
members that the password is No. 17 in 
the book of secrets, and the exercises of 
that evening will be : ‘ Stories which un- 


98 


Stories from the Adirondack^ 


ravel mysteries.* Perhaps they will 
throw some light on the things we have 
heard to-night. If our terms are satis- 
factory and are complied with, we 
shall expect you to be present and take 
a part.” 

I carefully read the rules and regula- 
tions of the club in the little book which 
he handed me. I saw that the require- 
ments were very exacting and the pen- 
alty for not fulfilling them — death, but I 
was fascinated with the whole thing— in- 
tensely interested in the strange stories I 
had heard and I wished to hear more. 
So I took the pen tendered me by the 
secretary and firmly wrote my name as 
one who wished to become a member. 


99 


Stones from the Adhondacks. 

Then a scene of the wildest confusion 
followed. All of the members jumped 
from their seats and made a rush for me. 
They seized me, bound me hand and 
foot and blindfolded me. Then I felt 
myself being carried on — on — on. Some- 
body whispered in my ear, “The pass- 
word is Mysterious.” Then I received a 
severe rap on my head, and I became 
unconscious. 


100 


Stories from the Adirondacks. 


V. 

MYSTERIOUS DISAPPEARANCE OF THE CLUB. 

When I came to my senses I found 
myself lying by the roadside many miles 
from the mysterious clubroom in which 
I had lately been, and alone. 

And so I became a member of the 
“Club of Mysterious Characters.” Or 
did I not? 

On the night appointed for the next 
meeting I went to the mansion as before, 
rapped on the last door to the left and 
expected to be admitted, but the door 
was not opened and I tapped again, this 


101 


Stories from the Adirondack^. 

time louder. Still no answer came to 
my summons. Then I applied my ear to 
the door and eagerly listened to catch if 
I could any sound from within, but all 
was still. I walked all around the build- 
ing to see if I could detect a light or the 
presence of any person, but failed to do 
so. At last, utterly discouraged, 1 came 
away. 

The next day I sought the man who 
had first admitted me to the presence of 
the club and demanded an explanation. 
But the only thing he would say in re- 
gard to the matter was to ask me if I had 
not been dreaming. 

And I am still lost in wonder at the 
strange turn of affairs. Have I made 


102 


Stories from the Adirondack. 


some mistake? Have I violated any rule? 
or what is the reason I was not admitted 
to that mysterious club’s house on the 
evening of the last visit to the same are 
things which are as mysterious to me 
as anything I saw or heard on the night 
when I first went there. 


103 


Stories from the Adirondack^ 


VI. 

THE HERO OF TOPHANS* CAMP. 

Newcomb, a town in the Adirondacks, 
is undoubtedly the most important lum- 
ber region in the north. At certain sea- 
sons of the year the little hamlet of that 
name, which nestles close to the foot of 
Mount Marcy, reminds one of nothing 
so much as the description of a mining 
town in the far West. Men of all nation- 
alities and peculiarities convene there 
through the fall and winter months. 
The many saloons of the place are well 


104 


Stories from the Adirondack;. 


patronized and the shouts of the bac- 
chanalian lumbermen and “hangers on,” 
mingled with gay, rollicking songs, can 
be heard in all directions. 

Back in the spruce forests which sur- 
round Newcomb on all sides are the 
lumber camps. They are frequented as 
a rule by a hardy class of men, but 
sometimes a “tenderfoot,” who has had 
pictured to him the bright side of a lum- 
berman’s life, finds his way in there and 
goes to work with a “gang,” only to find 
himself made a butt of ridicule and con- 
tempt until life becomes such a burden 
to him that he is forced to resign his 
position and seek employment with a 
more congenial company. The woods- 


105 


Stories from the Adirondack^. 

men hoot him out of sight and then turn 
to their work, laughing and jesting as if 
it was the occasion of some good joke, as 
indeed it is to them. 

From a pleasant home in a village not 
one hundred miles from New York City 
there started one pleasant day in Sep- 
tember, not many years ago, a fine fea- 
tured, educated young man bound for 
the lumber woods of Newcomb. He in- 
tended to be absent from his home for 
some months, and after a tearful part- 
ing with his widowed mother and fair 
young sweetheart and receiving their 
caution to be careful and not get hurt, 
and “be sure and write to us often,” he 
boarded a train and was carried on to- 
106 


Stories from the Adirondacfcs. 

ward the north. He was now the sole 
support of his mother. His father, once 
a prosperous business man, had met with 
a reverse of fortune, which caused his 
downfall in business and in health, and 
he died leaving his family with very 
limited means. After trying vainly to 
obtain a paying situation near home, our 
hero had heard of the big wages paid in 
the North Wood’s lumber camps and 
decided to cast his lot there. He was 
strong, brave, and not afraid to work, and 
had every confidence he could do good 
service in the lumbering business. 

Reaching Newcomb the following day 
he instituted inquiries as to the prospect 
of securing employment and was told 


Stories from the Adirondack^. 

that a man by the name of Tophans had 
recently started a large job, was in need 
of more men and was offering extra in- 
ducements to secure them. Therefore, 
to Tophans’ camp, Frank, as we will call 
our hero, went. 

It was nearly night when he reached 
the camp. The men were just coming 
in from their work and greeted Frank as 
he came in sight with cries of : “Hello, 
Johnnie, where’re you going to play to- 
night?’’ etc., etc. He minded not their 
rudeness, but hunted up the “boss’’ and 
presented himself for employment. He 
engaged himself as a chopper and the 
next day was set to work under a big 
Frenchman by the name of Joe, who was 


108 


Stories from the Adirondack^. 


the “boss chopper.’’ The “gang*’ had 
considerable fun at our hero’s expense, 
but he took it good-naturedly and went 
to work with a determination to suc- 
ceed in doing his share, and with hopes 
by so doing of winning the respect of 
the rough woodsmen who recognize only 
two qualities in a fellow-man— -those of 
physical strength and bravery. 

Before the first day's work was done, 
he heard one of the men remark to an- 
other that “that duffer is some pumpkins 
after all, I guess,’’ meaning to convey 
the idea that Frank was regarded by 
him as being strong and able, and after 
that all of the men showed more respect 
to him. 


109 


Stories from the Adirondack^ 


His day’s work finished, his employer, 
as is the custom each evening, asked him 
how many logs he had cut and Frank 
gave the number as eighty. When the 
count was given in, Frank noticed a 
scowl on the face of the “boss chopper” 
and attributed it to disgust because he 
had not cut more, but when shortly after 
the “b. c.” gave in his count as sixty - 
eight, he thought that that could not be 
the reason. The truth was the French- 
man was angry because Frank had 
beaten him by twelve logs in his first 
day’s work. 

The “gang” then proceeded to “guy” 
the “boss chopper” because he had been 
beaten by a “tenderfoot,” whereupon he 


110 


Stories from the Adirondacks* 


became very angry and swore to utterly 
demolish the “tenderfoot” on the mor- 
row. Frank was as strongly determined 
that he should do no such thing, and the 
next day the contest began. The 
Frenchman, stripped of all superfluous 
clothing, fell to work with all his 
strength. Frank made every blow count 
and the “gang” encouraged them on with 
cries, such as: “Git 'thar, Canada,” and 
“ Goer, Johnnie, or you’ll lose yer job.” 

Slam, bang went the axes; right 
merrily flew the chips. It was a contest 
between giant strength on one side and 
cool pluck on the other; but pluck won. 

Frank, 110; Joe, 102. Such was the 
count given in that evening. The “boss 


111 


Stories from the Adirondack^. 

chopper’s” face was a study. He grew 
red and pale by turns. He paced up and 
down the ‘‘men’s room” several times, 
and finally went to bed without saying a 
word. The men knew that a “big time” 
was on and eagerly awaited develop- 
ments. 

Early next morning Joe came down 
from the sleeping apartment above in a 
tumult of wrath. Frank was engaged in 
putting on his shoes in a corner of the 
‘‘men’s room.” The Frenchman imme- 
diately went up to him and shaking his 
fist under his nose angrily exclaimed: 

‘‘You d sucker, mebbe you beat me 

in chop, but me lick a dozen like you 
and me goin’ to do it.” So saying, he 


112 


Stories from the Adirondacks. 


hit Frank a stinging blow on the cheek. 
In an instant our hero’s blood was up 
and he jumped to his feet resolved to 
“do or die.” Quick as a flash he struck 
back at his burly antagonist a blow 
straight from the shoulder. It took him 
on the chin and down went his form to 
the floor, but he quickly jumped up and 
made for Frank, roaring like a mad bull. 

Frank’s school training now came into 
use. When the Frenchman came for 
him, he “ducked,” jumped one side, and 
before his assailant could realize it, he 
was lying on the floor from the effects of 
a blow on his head. He slowly pulled 
himself together, got up on his feet, 

• shook his fist at Frank, went out the 
113 


Stories from the Adirondacks. 

door and disappeared down the road 
going out from the camp. Then cheer 
after cheer from the “gang” nearly- 
raised the roof from the shanty. Every- 
one of the men rushed to Frank, shook 
his hand and warmly applauded him for 
his bravery, telling him that in future 
they were willing to do anything for 
him. The Frenchman was no favorite 
of the men anyway, and now that he was 
vanquished, and that, too, by a “tender- 
foot,” their admiration and joy knew no 
bounds, and they danced around the 
rough floor, sang and laughed, and to 
end off with, took Frank on their shoul- 
ders and carried him to the woods where 
they went to work again. 


114 


Storks from the Adirondack^. 

Tim© passed on. Joe was not heard 
from after. As his going away left the 
position of “boss chopper” vacant the 
place was offered to Frank at advanced 
wages. He accepted it, and during the six 
months that he stayed in the woods he 
filled it with credit to himself and satis- 
faction to his employer. He was loved and 
respected by all the men, and at Christ- 
mas time, in consideration of many little 
favors shown them by Frank, such as 
writing letters, etc. (many of the men 
being unable to read or write), they 
raised a nice little purse of money and 
presented it to him, and he sent it home 
to his mother down the Hudson. And 
so the winter passed away without any 


115 


Stories from the Adirondack^. 

new thing to break the monotony of 

camp life, and spring was near at hand. 

Frank was daily counting the minutes, 
looking eagerly forward to the time 
when he would again meet with his dear 
mother and sweetheart, with whom he 
intended to be joined in marriage in the 
spring, and they were as anxiously wait- 
ing his return. But now comes the sad 
part of this true tale and I cannot refrain 
from dropping a tear as I write it. Alas ! 
How cruel is fate. 

The winter is past and spring has 
come. Tophan’s job is ended. The men 
are collected together in the “men’s 
room’’ talking of events that are past 
and of the things to come. Some of 


116 


Stories from the Adirondacks. 


them will depart for their homes on the 
morrow, others will “go on the drive,” 
i.e. t help float the logs down the Hud- 
son River to the sawmills below. 
Frank decided to do the latter. It would 
make him later home, but he will be 
going toward it all the time and be earn- 
ing more money besides; and so the 
next day he starts. 

For five days everything goes well and 
the drive is down the river several miles. 
A jam of logs is formed in the middle of 
the river in a dangerous place and the 
foreman calls for volunteers to go out and 
“break” it. Frank is one of the first to 
respond, and he, with three other brave 
men, advance, axes in hand to the center 


117 


Stowes from the Adirondacks. 

of the dam— a few rapid blows and the 
logs are loosened and turn and toss in 
the swift current. Cries from the shore 
to “look out” are heard. The men 
start back leaping from log to log. An- 
other moment and all will be safely- 
landed. Frank is behind. His three 
companions have gained the shore. In 
another moment he will be with them. 
He jumps for a log but it floats from 
him. He strikes the water and with an 
agonizing cry of “Tell mother” on his 
lips, he is carried down in the swift cur- 
rent. 

Poor fellow ! The next day his body 
is washed ashore many miles below, 
bruised and beaten by the rushing tor- 


118 


Stories from the Adirondacks* 


rent, and is sent home. Oh! the agony, 
grief and despair of that loving mother 
and expectant sweetheart. Let us draw 
a veil over that sad scene. 

At a point near where Frank was 
drowned is a huge rock known as 
“Tragedy Rock.” The boys up in the 
North Woods have composed a song. in 
remembrance of “The hero of Tophan’s 
Camp.” I have often heard them sing 
it, but I can remember but one verse: 

“He was a favorite of all, 

Young, handsome, gay and brave; 

But at the jam on Tragedy Rock, 

He met with a watery grave.” 


119 


Stories from the Adirondack*. 


BEAR STORIES. 

Black bears are plenty in the Adiron- 
dacks and perhaps the city reader will 
be interested in a few true stories con- 
cerning them. 

I can well remember the first bear I 
ever saw. It was when I was a lad of 
about sixteen years of age. My home 
was then in a sparsely settled region 
among the mountains, and one day in the 
fall of the year I had been out along a 
mountain road picking blackberries. I 
had filled my pail with the luscious fruit 
and was returning home, whistling 


120 


Stories from the Adirondack^. 


merrily along the way. In going through 
a short piece of woods imagine my sur- 
prise at seeing a big, black, shaggy 
animal jump into the road not over a rod 
from me and go running along ahead of 
me. Was I frightened? Well, I should 
say I was. I gave a yell like a Coman- 
che Indian and took the back track. I 
ran one way and the bear the other. It 
would be hard to tell which was the 
most frightened. I do not know what 
became of my pail of berries. I did not 
have them when I stopped running. 

But I was young then. I have since 
seen many bears and killed quite a num- 
ber. They have lost.their terrors for me. 

I can recall catching a big bear alive 


121 


Stories from the Adirondack^. 

in an old barn which stood in a back 
meadow near a forest. He was an old 
sheep thief and had given the farmers 
round about any amount of trouble. 
One night a party of us determined to 
lay for the old fellow and give him a 
warm reception if he came around. 

We stationed ourselves behind the 
fence of the barnyard in which he had 
been plying his business of sheep catch- 
ing, and waited. 

Presently, we heard something tearing 
around inside the barn, and we thought 
we would take a peep inside and see 
what it was. “Gee whiz!” said one of 
the men; “it’s a bear in the barn there. 
Now, let’s take him captive.” 

m 


Stories from the Adirondacks. 


So we crept around quietly and closed 
the barn door, and behold his bearship 
was a prisoner. How he did snarl and 
rage and try to get out; but he was 
there to stay. 

All next day every man, woman and 
child for miles around crowded about 
that barn, peering in through the cracks 
to see our prize. 

Finally after exhibiting him long 
enough we cast lots to ascertain who 
should have the bounty and pelt and 
the lucky man took a gun and pointing 
in through a knothole shot Mr. Bruin 
dead. He was a huge fellow, and fur- 
nished bear steak enough to last the 
whole neighborhood for many days. 


123 


Stories from the Adirondack^ 

The greatest number of bears I ever 
saw together was five. They were hav- 
ing a camp meeting, I guess. I ran 
upon them without making my presence 
known and stood watching them for 
some minutes. They would go up close 
to each other and rub their noses to- 
gether; then they would back up, sit 
down on their haunches and look at 
each other. Then they would get up 
and all walk round in a circle. I soon 
got tired of watching their funny antics 
and sent a rifle bullet in among them, 
which had the effect of breaking up the 
meeting and killing one of the brethren. 

One time when hunting in the moun- 
tains I ran across two little bear cubs 
124 


Stories from the Adirondacks. 


curled up in a hollow stump asleep, and 
as the mother bear was not around to 
offer any objections I captured them, 
put them in my pack-basket and carried 
them home. I shut them in a shed a 
little way from my house and left them 
there. That night, along toward morn- 
ing, I was awakened by a terrible racket 
out in the shed where my baby bears 
were confined. I conjectured that the 
mother bear had come for her young, 
and I was not mistaken, for looking out 
I could see by the pale light of the moon 
that she was there, tearing around that 
building like mad and, the cubs were 
scratching and whining inside trying to 
get out to her. My heart was touched 
12 * 


Stories from the Adirondack^. 


with pity for the little things. I made 
a noise to frighten the old bear away so 
she would not harm me, and I went 
quickly out and released the little ones 
and off they scampered to join their 
parent. I could have easily killed the 
old bear, and the bounties from her 
and the cubs would have netted me a 
nice little sum of money, but I did not 
have the heart to do so. 


THE END. 


126 


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